


A Sleepy Promise

by SweetHermitress



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, wtnv
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetHermitress/pseuds/SweetHermitress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic takes place immediately following the events of "Lazy Day."  Carlos talks in his sleep and makes a promise to Cecil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sleepy Promise

Cecil could almost swear he felt the sweat actually leave his pores before trickling down his neck. He had spent his whole life in the desert (excluding that lovely trip through Europe back in his college days), but this was a different sort of heat. He couldn’t remember any day so hot that it sapped not only his energy, but that of the entire town. He was exhausted and glad to be heading home. Then again, ever since Strex had taken over the town, he was leaving work exhausted more and more frequently.

He was so glad to have Carlos waiting at home for him. So lucky. He sighed wistfully to himself just looking forward to seeing his beautifully imperfect boyfriend. He was impressed at just how industrious Carlos could manage to be today. Even the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lived In Their House was unusually listless, and yet Carlos had somehow checked off everything on the list of household chores Cecil had lovingly but firmly provided him a week ago, and then some. Cecil loosened his tie a little, trying to will the air conditioning in his car to blow stronger. So oppressive was this heat, it may as well be a physical presence, and Cecil felt smothered by it. Yes, coming home to Carlos would be even more welcome than usual after today. 

It didn’t help that he hadn’t been sleeping well for months. Ever since he had found those old cassette tapes, his sleep had been fitful at best. He would awaken to the sound of his own moaning some nights (something which had been soothing, in its own way, before the discovery of the tapes), though more commonly it had escalated to screaming. The Faceless Old Woman had left several pamphlets about the few sleep medications that were not distributed by StrexCorp, along with a surprisingly friendly hissing cockroach with a handwritten sign in its pincers reading “I am timeless, ageless, as well as faceless. But I do need to sleep sometimes.”

Even more frequent than these rude awakenings was simple insomnia. Cecil would dutifully go to bed at the same time every evening, but he would lay awake under the covers, filled with some unknown dread. It was different than the typical existential horror of knowing that we are all just bags of meat and bone propelled by weak electrical impulses and a consciousness we arrogantly tout as proof of a soul. No, that was a heaviness he knew, but this was something he could not identify. He knew it had something to do with those tapes, but he couldn’t – or, perhaps more accurately, wouldn’t – figure out just what it was that tormented him. 

So what could he do? He would toss and turn for a while before getting up, wandering around the house, occasionally flipping through the pages of a municipally-approved book or the channels of the TV. Sometimes Carlos would sit up with him a while, though he would usually fall asleep in front of the TV whilst Cecil remained maddeningly alert. Occasionally Carlos would talk in his sleep, whether they were in bed or sitting on the couch. Cecil not-so-secretly found this adorable, but tried not to fawn over it too much since it seemed to embarrass Carlos so much. The first time it had happened, Cecil actually had thought Carlos was awake. 

They were sitting in front of a glowing infomercial for a child’s first set of bloodstones, when suddenly Carlos burst out with, “That’s so stupid!”

Cecil was shocked. Ever since his arrival, Carlos had accommodated to customs of Night Vale rather well. Certainly, he would occasionally voice some bizarre opinion or espouse some crackpot theory, like his adamant insistence on the existence of mountains, but really, he couldn’t help that he’d been raised without the benefit of a proper education. He was lucky he’d gotten this far, really. “Carlos, I’m surprised at you!” Cecil gasped.

Before he could continue what he was going to say, Carlos cut him short with, “Cecil, that man is terrible! Estupido!” 

Cecil was even more aghast, since it was not like Carlos to interrupt him. Furthermore, the pitchperson for the product was a genderless spokesbeing, and it wasn’t like Carlos to get that wrong. But Cecil finally started laughing when Carlos had shouted, “POR QUE WHY?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! MUFFINS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO WEAR CLOTHES – EVEN IF YOU MAKE THEM VERY SMALL!” Ending with an irritated, “Estupido.”

Even thinking about it now made Cecil giggle a little bit. Sometimes he could have full conversations with Carlos while he was still sleeping, which did make it a little harder to know when he was just sleep-talking. Once they had a conversation how Carlos could prove, scientifically, that Big Rico’s pizza was actually made by rather industrious chimpanzees, probably escaped from the research labs of Night Vale Community College – which, Carlos seemed not to realize, had been empty since an event called “The Great Ape Uprising of 1976,” despite the fact that it happened in 1983 (time had been acting odder than usual then). Another time, much to Cecil’s horror, Carlos was actually suggesting they go visit that cesspool, Desert Bluffs, before abruptly rambling in mixed English and Spanish about how beautiful the moon could be at Radon Canyon – “observed from a safe distance,” Carlos added, whatever that was supposed to mean. 

But in general, it was just such a cute idiosyncrasy. Whenever Cecil told him of the latest odd thing that he’d said whilst asleep, Carlos would grimace slightly and anxiously run his fingers through his hair, asking Cecil not to tell anyone. But Cecil wouldn’t tell anyone, not even his beloved listeners. It was a sweet quirk about Carlos that only he got to see, sort of like the birthmark Carlos had on his – well, anyway, it was just for him. 

When Cecil finally arrived at their home, he fumbled with the keys a bit before falling through the door. He looked for Carlos on the couch, his usual napping spot, but it was empty. Cecil walked through the bedroom and found a towel on the floor (one of Carlos’ less than perfect habits) and Carlos curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the covers and wearing only his boxer shorts. Cecil couldn’t help but smile when he saw him. He still sometimes had a hard time believing that Carlos was his boyfriend. 

Sighing as he picked up the towel from the floor, he decided he could use a shower himself. He mainly just wanted to rinse off the sweat from the day, so he didn’t bother with the shampoo. He dried himself – and placed his dirty towel in the hamper, where it belonged – and put on some underwear. It was too hot for anything else. Gingerly so as not to wake Carlos, Cecil laid down on the bed, leaving a little space between him and Carlos so they wouldn’t get each other sweaty.

Carlos stirred, and at first Cecil was worried he had woken him. Carlos groaned slightly and despite the space, reached his arm out on top of Cecil. Cecil smiled and backed up so they were spooning properly. After all, who could complain if they got sweaty from cuddling?

“Mi querido,” Carlos rumbled.

“Carlos?” Cecil whispered. He still wasn’t sure if Carlos was awake or not.

Carlos responded by pulling him closer. “Mi querido,” he said again. He then murmured something Cecil couldn’t quite understand. This suggested Carlos was asleep, but Cecil couldn’t help himself and asked Carlos to repeat himself.

Carlos heaved a breath, which was hot on Cecil’s shoulder, but not unpleasantly so. “I’ll keep you safe, mi querido.”

Cecil didn’t know what to say, so he simply asked, “From what, Carlos?”

Carlos nuzzled into his shoulder and mumbled, “From bad dreams. And everything.”

Cecil felt flush. He turned around to face Carlos. Absentmindedly he curled his fingers around Carlos’ chest hair, which concealed the scars from his charge on the tiny civilization underneath the bowling alley. He kissed the scars. His Carlos was so brave. He knew if anyone could fend off those bad dreams, it was him.

Abruptly, Carlos snorted and shifted his weight. One eye opened, then the other. He blinked. “Oh honey, you’re home,” he croaked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Cecil chuckled. “You were talking in your sleep again.”

Grimacing, Carlos started to ask what he’d said, but Cecil kissed him instead. Carlos kissed him back, but arched his eyebrows inquisitively.

“It was fine, Carlos. Don’t worry about it.”

Carlos grinned sheepishly. Cecil turned back around and pulled Carlos’ arms tighter around him. Carlos kissed his shoulder. They both fell into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
